Poems
Toast 🍞
I was created for only one purpose.
I was grouped with others of my kind to then later be separated.
The world fades around me until I can only see out above.
The heat bears down on me and turns my skin dark.
The metal bars of oppression thwart me from my dreams.
I sit in waiting for the inevitable final grain of sand to fall in the hourglass that determines my life.
Pop.
The Leaves of Life 🍂
I am thought to be quite old, or so it is told,
Yet, my birthday was April of this year.
I belong to something outstandingly bigger than me.
I see life happen all around me, I see others like me appear and fall to their death.
My skin doesn’t fit me well, for it is always changing.
I wait for the cold breeze to come through and tell me my future.
I like the warmth. The warm air, the warm waters, the warm faces who admire me.
I know I do not live very long, but I will be born again once the ground becomes warm another time.
Wings
I’m torn between who I am and who I am supposed to be.
My head is swirling with morals and rules, and I only feel as if I’m being used as a tool by fools.
My heart is tired of being told what to do, it’s time for me to figure out who I am.
I feel the pressure bear down on me and I’m the only one who can see.
I long for the end, for the time to suspend, but I’m only left with more and more feelings of disappointment and dissatisfaction.
I’m a rock that’s being abraded by the Sands of Time and the waters of pressure.
Like a bird longing to fledge, I wait for my time to fly away to school to be pressured by a whole new cast of pain and responsibilities.
Still I become more and more everyday of who I am and yet the one who is supposed to be me watches over.
Red
Red chips of plastic are scattered on wet asphalt like confetti on New Years,
The red sign stands in derelict,
A flash of light and strike of metal can change everything,
The vestige of tail lights that replay every night,
My eyes slowly drift closed as water caresses my cheek,
Soon, he’ll be all but a memory.
ONCE
I walk home alone at 2 A.M.
I’m never going to feel
the same again am I?
An eerie green sign reads:
Blvd of Broken Dreams.
FIRESTONE
In the aching black of the night,
I rest a hand on the trunk of an old tree.
Who else has been where I have?
Off in the distance a song of regret
and futures to come
plays softy under the pale moonlight.
They Fly Free
Through the air, around trees,
Skimming perfectly over water,
Above canyons and mountains,
They fly free.
Sharp blue skies, grey storm clouds,
Yellow and orange sunsets,
through the dark night sky,
They fly free.
Quick flaps, strong peaceful soars, wading strides, graceful floating, joyful loops,
They fly free.
In forests, in cites, in marshes, in deserts,
in snow, in heat, in rain or shine,
They fly free.
I am a bird, as are you,
longing to fly free.
Dead End
Dead end, dead end,
deadeadead dead end.
How did I get to this?
Two left turns,
The street with his house,
All those nights.
A right hand turn,
Past the field,
The woods we grew up in.
Straight for half a mile,
Yellow signs stand out,
Home seems so far away now.
Turn right down Eisenhower Drive,
Near the park,
Those swings, the adventure,
A memory, a feeling.
Clusters of houses on Newberry Circle,
I knew them, I’ve been there,
I spent the night there,
after it all happened.
A few wrong turns,
Bad mistakes,
dead end.
What Makes Me Feel Peaceful?
Is it walking through the woods?
Is it taking 30 seconds of deep breaths?
Or reading tips on being happy?
Is it a pill?
What about closing my eyes and imagining an island?
Counting to 15 for no reason than to stop thinking?
No, it is driving at 12 AM with the windows down so I can practically hear the light change.
It’s standing still and waiting for a chickadee to land.
It’s feeling the crunch of snow under my feet and hearing nothing besides falling flakes.
It’s losing my sense of self in a good video game.
It’s watching Harry Potter with a bowl of Mac & Cheese.
It’s playing chess with dad and not caring to win or lose.
It’s running around with Harley in the backyard.
It’s just being alive in the moment, taking it in, enjoying everything, and regretting nothing.
Dead On The Road
A bushy tail,
Black and white stripes,
Ironic feathers sticking out of meat that it wasn’t born with,
Big ears that couldn’t jump this time,
A common expression for fear and hesitation,
You know what they say about curiosity,
And something that would make Bill Murray happy.
Down to the Last Cell
Every molecule that makes up your cheeks,
All the atoms in your heart,
Each chemical reaction happening in your brain,
The protons and neutrons that embody your eyes, your pure blue eyes,
The individual strains of your hair,
Every freckle or blemish or skin imperfection that you think you have,
The thoughts that clog your mind with sadness and despair,
The cords that emit your lovely voice,
Your skin that conducts heat against mine,
All the muscles that show your sweet smile,
And bone that create you.
You are beautiful down to the last cell.
Loneliness
Hours of silence are filled with
the murmur of daily life.
My desire to get away is overshadowed by the need to hear a human voice;
A reassuring voice of comfort and familiarity.
Stagnation wasn’t supposed to be permanent.
A crow-sized hole sits empty in my chest.
Distant motorcycle engines remind me I’m not the only one but confirm that no one is around.
Even the birds leave me for winter.
The snow mutes the surrounding surreal sound of this alien planet I inhabit.
Why is it I am here but togetherness is no longer apart of me?
The black night of yesterday remains my only friend.
Forbidden thoughts of tomorrow hang low.
My heart beats in quarter notes.
What am I forgetting?
Who have I forgot?
The night is young and pure but no longer a memory.
Pastel Moments
A string of neurons connect with chemical reactions taking place in my limbic system.
My mind races to colors of vibrant origin, pastels, and others Bob Ross might read off before his show.
The bubbles of ideas float toward a more blissful locale.
The empty street of Ellington wasn’t always foreign.
The name Margaret bounces of my cranial wall.
The name is mine but whose is it?
Silhouettes of telephone lines and power cables wander into eyes as I move farther away.
Clouds hang low in the sky and fill me with bright curiosity and humbling fear.
The colors on the flag don’t define who I am but show me I’m not alone.
Opening the door I’m assailed by a rush of paws and an innocent nostalgic aroma.
I leave my thoughts outside to mature under the multicolored clouds of creativity and wonder.
The sounds I hear from my window
The hum of Winter’s air,
The Night’s envy,
The Day’s regrets,
The distant howl of a motorcycle racing off further down I-77,
The constant, prominent, yet unnoticeable tik of the circular clock from my aunt,
The pure dreadful silence of 2:38 AM,
I can hear the blackness that presses itself to my window,
I can hear it breathe, slowly to go unnoticed,
It feels my presence as I do,
The longing to reach in,
Stars who sing alien hymns,
The cars that drive into the hours of the night from desolate places to evermore unknown locales,
The neurons that create these words that reverberate from the glass,
The sound of the slight wind against the siding is always the same, cold.
The static pitch released from cumulus clouds,
And the friction of a teardrop on skin.
WHERE I AM FROM
I am from a familiar name
and number.
I’m from the short nights
and early mornings,
the dogs but no cats.
From the Coyote Club and
bonfires with friends and s'mores.
I know the local politics and politicians,
neat suits and welcoming smiles.
I’m the long days with cousins
that are almost siblings.
I’m from the late night
Taco Bell runs with
Parker, new and exciting,
I am the cool oceanic waves on the Kennebunk shores,
the gentle breeze in the forest, oh how I move the land,
I’m the birds I feed, Black-Capped and curious,
even the heat rising from the sand causing delusions to the eyes.
From the good grades
to the bad ones,
from the volunteering and the pessimism,
I was born to a steady home, cookie-cutter but forever different,
his love for space with always make me
happy, the most when I don’t show it.
Our connection of Billy Joel and The Beatles,
will always be there.
Somewhere, the dog is running in the yard,
the sun is setting over firestone,
the house still faces west,
and we all have our own lives,
but this is where I am from.
A Battle of Rubber And Water
Thin rain drops pierce glass,
daily life is drowned out by the hum of machinery.
A crescent moon of rubber appear below a metallic hull,
water is no match for the G-Force,
Unknown green words stand out against a white backdrop,
Different metals form the beast,
Gain and loss,
Soon it’s over.
Untitled 01
Writing,
the day we met was like lead to paper.
we were magic together, always arm in arm or holding hands.
we stayed up late make conversational poetry.
now the sight of you makes me wanna vomit.
so shut up and leave me alone.
-Love Carter
Simplicity
“a thing that is plain, natural, or easy to understand.”
Two sets of fingers interlocked,
The aesthetic roll of purple
flower petals creating art with genomes,
Transfixed gazing of oceanic remorse intertwined with pastures of
sprouting grass blades,
Hellos under the stairs,
Blue streaking waves of yore brushing violently against small rocks,
Velvet under tips of fingers,
However dark night is,
Wind passing through hurdles of hair,
To see the clouds and
Wonder,
An apology,
To recall a memory of yesterday,
Seeing through of the eyes of others,
Footfalls on sand while they walk behind,
Breathing,
The gathering of molecules of water
in the corner of eyes,
Replacing the seeds that will grow,
Turning the other cheek,
Watching as bluebirds dance through harsh winds,
An earthworm inching calmingly
through the rain,
A handshake,
A hug,
But never the Grand Canyon’s Rivers,
For tomorrow rings with simplicity.
IN THE FULLNESS OF TIME
My heart was returned,
Shattered and scarred,
However whole.
Mending a broken heart is harder,
Than tubs of ice cream,
Or pats on the back.
It take surrounding yourself,
With friends and family,
It takes,
Looking in the mirror at yourself,
Handsome and strong,
Even with the tears rolling
down your cheek.
It takes Adventures,
Sleeping under the stars,
Wondering how we got here,
And knowing how far you’ll go.
Eventually, the membrane,
Begins to reattach itself,
The roots connect with the ground,
The tear ducts dry up,
The long nights become,
Peaceful rests for hopes and dreams.
CROWS IN WINTER
Black masses hover fearfully over snow,
The Happiest Time of the Year is overshadowed by inky beaks that peck the ground for food,
However scary they perceive to be,
They fly up and away when my car passes,
But always return.
Branches bend from the pressure, ice,
Every year they remember my face,
They known my past,
My struggles, my identity,
the bane of my existence,
My fucking eye color.
Steam rises from my coffee,
light cream but heavy sugar,
Do they know this?
Crows watch me from the telephone wires,
Helpless and stupid,
Our gaze intertwine.
As I walk into work,
They do the same,
Mimicking my footfalls.
Leaving, the tic marks in the snow are
Remnants The Crows just left.
All that remains is a Venta-black feather, lying perfectly still in the snow.
I left meat on my back porch hoping they’d come again.
Haikus:
The tattoo of the
Woodpecker is heard through the
Warm summer daydream.
As ocean waves rise,
Ghost Crabs scurry in and out.
Soon, to be or not.
Stars, I long for you,
No matter the season, I
Will always look up.
A Quick Poem of Spider-Man
Thwip,
Pow,
Quip,
Ow.
Lost and Found
You were born in a
greenhouse in Spain,
Atop a hill overlooking a lake,
The stars exploded when they saw you.
The sun started dawning on the day
I went hunting for you.
Your hands, dirty,
pale,
but happy,
I saw them planting beautiful flowers of
pink and white,
blue and purple.
I needed proof you were real,
A sweet-blissful aroma
Assailed me as the glass door opened,
You told me you were here
Permanently.
Together we sat under the glass sky,
Our love was a butterfly metamorphosis,
Beautiful.
Across the Universe Poem
Words sputter out around me,
Rain drops fall like white worlds collapsing,
As your hand refuses to hold
mine any longer,
You slip away between the buildings
Never returning,
Possessed I stand still,
Alone,
Wet,
With a loss for words.
No remorse comforts me.
Light caresses my face and
dances around me
Only to disappear and replace itself.
Broken sounds fill the hole in my chest.
Tumbling blindly,
I feel my heart’s meter
direct me to your house.
Glass separates you from mine.
Lights flood over me.
Sounds of hate,
Shattered visions,
Bruised hands,
Cold nights,
Lost love,
Never again,
Nothings gonna change my world.
Scenes From The Natural World That Are Not Metaphors For My Life
Patches of grass blades sprouting
from broken pockets of asphalt,
A nuthatch refusing to eat
from a hand,
White buds on the tips of ancient branches
bringing new life to a eighteen-year-old tree,
Plump chipmunks scurrying
under a shrub,
Wind,
How a small drop of water
can lead to a river,
which in turn leads to eroding away
parts of the rock to create the
grandest of canyons,
The stars that are so far apart from one another yet seem so close,
Holes left in dead trees,
Whatever mushroom that is,
The brightness of the sun which is currently
hidden behind grey clouds,
The mysterious origin to the universe,
Atoms breaking down,
Quarks doing their own
Strange and Charm things,
Heat rising between small rocks and sand alongside a highway in Arizona,
A waterfall deep in the jungles of Madagascar,
Pine needles on the forest floor,
The rain drops that land
on car windshields,
Fluffy clouds of pink during the
evening sunset,
Mice being eaten by cats,
Water that changed into vapor falling back down to earth,
Ocean waves that crash against rocks along the Maine shores,
Three smooth stones stacked on stop of one another,
Dirt,
A colony of ants that are only
powerful together,
The Nile River,
Or even the tree who lost
it’s leaves,
It’s life,
It’s whole identity fell,
Not even that.
FURY
A muscle-numbing wave of
anger washes over me.
Ear pounding,
Heart throbbing,
Blood boiling,
Vein popping,
Brain buzzing,
Eye glaring,
Fist clenching,
Wave of fury.
Daydreams
As a warm gust of spring air passes through my opened palm, I become aware a few things:
My golden-haired quadruped
loves to lay among the grass blades,
He also loves to crawl his way along the ground like a strange fish.
I see that the flowers begin smiling again
And make constellations on the ground,
Noticing the flowers, I also begin to realize that the dirt beneath my feet is no longer cold, stiff, nor unforgiving.
Quite similarly, the trees retain the
stature they once had.
Among the list of things returning,
birds, from far and wide, return to their summer homes,
Retreating from their south Florida bungalows and from tanning across the waves.
I see children returning outside until dusk,
Swinging gleefully or chasing one another as I once did long ago.
I even notice in myself that once the sun drops it’s extraordinary rays back down to earth,
That a stranger returns to me asking for my hand.
That stranger, who goes away once the weather gets cold and the sun retreats behind its bedsheets, is no stranger.
It is myself,
A feeling of who I once was,
A feeling of when the morning didn’t mean waking up for work or for school,
It meant that a new day was beginning and would hold outstanding adventures of peace and excitement.
TIME
Time,
a numbing ambiance always
crept fretfully towards me as
he arrived.
His VentaBlack suit took me
back years and years
To my birthdays or
when my mom was rushed to the
hospital.
Times always had his hand in mine,
Us walking together down the sunsetting beach,
Or he was ten feet behind me,
watching with a
menacing glare.
As I sat next to my cousins
at my uncles funeral,
Time was three rows back
burning a hole in the back of the head.
With his hand on my shoulder,
He took me to when I had to say goodbye to my dogs for the final time.
Some nights Time lay with me,
The comforting warmth reminding
me everything's okay.
Other nights he sat on the
other side of my door
tapping his translucent watch
As every second passed.
tick, tick, tick
He walks ahead of me now, through the underbrush of the Atlantic shores.
He’s careful not to leave any
footprints in the Sands,
Time is trying to be inconspicuous,
but I know he’s always there.
Simple
Seven-thirty AM,
Sun peaking through cracks in the window shades,
Sunday,
Sounds of distant train horns blare
Slowly causing the house to tremble in
Solitude.
Softy, not to cause a stir,
Sheets twitch as the body removes itself to
See robins tweet like every other
Sun-filled May morning.
Soon, the steam of an early morning coffee
Speaks to the surrounding air,
Simple kisses all around.
Swift strides show distance holds no
Success when time is of no
Sure meaning.
Successful or not, we all hold
Some meaning to
Something or
Someone in our lives. No matter how
Simple a task may be. It could be the
Sweet sunshine to someone’s day.
So go tell that
Someone that you love them and that you
Send sweet kisses their way. It’s
Simple.
Untitled 02
An evening shower of rain
has many effects,
It can remind us of
watching storms in the summer,
Dark clouds rolling in before the earth below is assailed by the repetition of
water-bullets,
The continuous static of the droplets can be soothing to some allowing them to depart for slumber and dream of fanciful colors with hidden themes,
Or it can keep them awake with the jarring sound against the window like an alarm clock refusing to yield.
Some of us are caught in the rain,
Letting it’s chill touch pour through our hair,
Against our skull and down our spine.
The blur of an evening shower of rain is humbling,
Reminding us to look at our feet in hopes to remain on proper footing.
Rain can leave welts on our backs forcing us to the ground,
Or it can caress our cheeks in hopes to help lighten the mood.
The thought of rain can inspire fear and anxiety,
Or hope and excitement.
Why do we long for rain when it’s dry but wish for the sun when it’s wet?
Why after two hours of constant streaks against my window,
of two hours of wind whipping rain,
Why does it just halt?
All is left is the emptiness and puddles.
Saturn
Did you see it too, floating, amongst the stars?
Did you see the radiant rings rise righteously?
The golden rays that gleam down to Earth
shatter the night sky.
Tree tops are caressed by the blissful light,
peering through the spaces between branches,
shining onto the ground below.
Did you hear the ambient chime resonate past
Grus, Pavo, or Phoenix?
Did the hum sweep through your ears
and into your forsaken heart,
bringing forth curiosity
and wonder of the cosmos above?
Silver dots sprinkle the deep
blackness of the surrounding sky,
but only one light truly pierces the night.
This Is Just To Say
My love hath faded like
the stars that were once
in your eyes that
seemed to have dimmed
Your hair that used to show freedom
now ties itself around my wrists
like shackles of a
loveless man
My apologies remain fruitless
like the words from your mouth
to my ears evermore
I’m sorry holds no meaning
Untitled 03
A single set of white knuckles
clutches the steering wheel,
unrecognizable music blares
while the wind whips through the open window with an elbow hanging out
as the gage hits 70...75...80...85...
The adrenaline shocks the heart as the
truck is only seen through the
rearview mirror.
The temptation to just...
let go.
Suddenly thoughts of Mom, of the fall, the funeral...
It all seems to drift away...
melting under the street lamps...
90...85...80...75...70...65...
until the car stops with a red glare on the windshield.
His heart beats rhythmically,
shame, shame, shame,
tears now have no opposition
but just to fall,
The radio turns into silence.
”forgive me.”
The Color
You fill my mind with wonder.
Childlike imagination wanders through my soul,
Radiant light bursts around me, your Radiant light.
I see you everywhere,
yet nowhere at the same time.
My heart is set Ablaze with energy when you’re around me.
Striking, Bold, Captivating, Breathtaking,
These are all words to describe you.
Vivid, Deep, Brilliant, Electric.
I see you now,
in my mind,
showing your true colors.
Your glittering iridescence is harmonious with the beating of my heart.
My memory of you is sepia like an old photograph,
flooding my hippocampus with beautiful imagery.
What color do you see?
Untitled 04
What have I done under the stars?
I’ve lied,
I’ve hated,
I’ve deceived.
I’ve forced smiles,
and I’ve had to repress them as well.
I’ve loved, fallen out of love,
I’ve yelled, sworn,
screamed at the top of my lungs,
but I’ve also whispered and held back words.
I’ve put people down,
I’ve belittled them,
But I’ve also helped them up,
And gave them words of encouragement.
I’ve cried,
I’ve been lost,
But I’ve been found,
Under the stars.
Fledging
Four weeks,
twenty-eight days,
eighteen years in the making,
now it’s only three weeks away.
My wings are stronger now.
They’ve stretched out before
in small leaps from the nest,
but nothing like this.
I am going to fledge into a life
of the unknown,
of endless possibilities,
of wonder,
learning,
excitement,
new faces,
new pains,
new thorns,
new struggles,
new worries,
new responsibilities,
a new life.
My Wings are ready to soar
to great heights.
Yardwork
Some days,
I let the grass grow.
I let it grow higher than it should be,
through the rocks,
over the patio,
up the chairs.
But other days,
I wake up early,
when the air is still chilly,
the dew is still settled,
and the sun is just peeking over the neighbor's house,
and I open my shed,
pour a little gas into the mower,
set it in line,
and I cut the grass
so that it fits neatly in my yard.
I edge the corners and make sure everything is perfect.
I like to see my yard tamed,
no longer a metaphor,
just cut grass.
Dear Friend,
It has been a month or so,
since I saw you last.
It has been even longer since
we played those songs in your car
that we hear too much.
Those songs still ricochet
around my skull,
like a coin in the dryer.
My friend it has been too long
since we drove for hours
lost,
around our old school,
through parking lots,
between the trees of a foreign wood,
and back home again.
It has been too long since
I’ve heard your laugh,
you’re deep,
bellowing laugh
that brings a sharp smile
to my face.
Not a day goes by where
I don’t see the picture of us
in my room.
Not a day goes by where
I don’t wish you here,
just to walk,
talk,
or even
sit down at a fire.
I would go through hell
just to see you again.
Don’t pity me for this.
Just know,
you are missed.
your best friend,
Carter
Without justice
Why can some of us
walk around the street,
hands in our pockets,
hoods up,
minding our own business,
and nothing will happen?
People will walk by,
nod,
perhaps even a simple greeting.
But for others of us,
in the same situation,
get looked at,
people move around us,
maybe even a slur gets thrown in,
or the cops get called.
Just for walking.
Why does the simple
spelling of a name,
determine whether or not,
you get a minimum wage job?
The same application,
but the damn name itself,
is enough to bring hate.
How can some of us,
stuff our bellies,
expand our stomachs,
throw away leftovers,
while others of us
sit on the street,
begging for loose change
just to buy a damn snack
so we don’t starve today?
How can some of us
hold so many commas
in our bank account,
while others don’t eat today,
so our kids can and
the lights will stay on?
How can some of us,
hold so much money that
our children’s,
children’s,
children’s,
children,
can’t even spend it all,
while some of us work three jobs,
don’t sleep some nights,
hunger ringing in our ears,
just to make sure we have a place
to come home to?
How does a gathering of people,
with signs that say,
“Look at me, am I less than you?”
spark a fire that burns
the walls of candor down?
How does a simple saying
that someone’s life matters,
bring so much hate?
How can we live in the Land of the Free,
yet turn others just like us,
down at the entrance to the Free World,
a new beginning?
How can we say that our family
is more important than theirs?
How can we say
a face,
a name,
a skin color,
a hairstyle,
a language,
A religion
a culture
is criminal?
I don’t pretend to know the answers,
but it’s time we look for the solutions.
Untitled 05
There’s something about
walking down the sidewalk,
of a familiar street,
the cold air that seems
to sting your finger tips,
with the rhythm that
bounces off the ground,
step step step,
the distant howl of
lone engines,
the creeks and chirps
of unidentifiable
insects and frogs,
even the hum that
the stars give way to,
or the sight of a broken
street lamp that shines
against a dark landscape,
the thoughts of adventure
that run deep within the
columns of my mind,
and the feeling of home
just a few feet away,
that makes me...
Feel
You
My life was
meaningless
before I met you,
I was shrouded
in darkness
before your angelic light
pierced the night.
I was blind before,
but now,
now I see and you are
the first person I have seen.
I was once deaf,
no sound could penetrate my skull,
now your beautiful voice
echoes through my mind.
Once I was empty and deprived of touch,
but now your hands caress
my body with care
like hands holding a baby dove.
My once insipid lips
now taste you every night and day.
Even sweet scents were foreign to me,
however your bewitching fragrance
haunts my soul.
Once I was lost,
now I am found
in the arms of yore.
Scars
You still linger in my mind, you know?
Every once in awhile
your pain will reach my brain.
I will simply run my fingers over
the spot you once were.
I still feel your scar.
The spot isn’t visible
to the untrained eye,
but I know where you used to be.
I can still feel
the rough skin,
the tough patch,
the marks that used to ache,
the pieces that would chip away.
I can’t say I miss you,
because I don’t,
I can only say
I remember the times
when you were there.
You made my life harder,
but that’s just how it used to be.
And now you’re gone,
but you still linger through my mind.
Dusting
As the songbirds flee to warmer climates,
the juncos arrive in all their glory and splendor.
With them,
comes the cold.
Even the familiar landscape
is changed to a new surreal
and dreamlike locale.
A gentle dusting of snow
brushes peacefully over the once
playful grounds.
From this,
we retreat into our homes,
our warm and cozy homes,
to watch as juncos scrape the snow back
to pick at oily black sunflower seeds
hidden below.
We watch as the days get shorter
and the nights grow longer.
We listen as the distance hum
slowly fades within the muffled snow.
We feel as the seasons change,
that we in ourselves change too.
The inner workings of our souls
cease to yearn of extraordinary times
and move past our profligate desires
to a more humble and content lifestyle.
Train Tracks
Repetitious lines of wood,
of steel,
stretch for miles on end.
As heat,
begins to rise along the rails,
the ground,
begins to shake as a mass moves.
With a flash,
the metal snake moves farther
down the line
with the solidarity of the fact that
the tracks decide
where it ends up and the only control
the conductor
has is the simple act of when and how fast.
Yet, this act,
this almost too simple of an act,
is present within
each of our lives as we lack the control to change
the tracks
that are placed in lines of wood,
of steel,
that stretch out for miles on end.
We quietly
surrender to the irony of staying on track
and move only
when we are told and follow how fast to move.
Two years
are wasted before one might realize.
Breaths are
wasted before one can no longer breathe.
Nights are forgone
yet not forgotten before the derailment can
be reversed.
Softly, we retrace the tracks to a different time,
of when all
our worries belonged to tracks of wood,
of steel,
That stretched for miles on end.
Simulated Reality:
//the pretended state or quality of having existence//
Blue waves with the falsehood of orange
crash precariously against a jagged rock face,
Trees of willow and locust
are coated with ambient light of the setting sun,
Bulbs of brillant flames shine from millions of miles
away in the form of holes that puncture the night sky,
The heavens are quiet now,
only the oceanic breeze makes the slightest impression,
At last, you are by my side.
Your hair outshines the sleeping sun,
Your eyes pierce the night more extravagantly
than that of any astronomical body,
Your laugh sweeps the wind away.
This is my design.
The Glass Window
As I fledged,
I soared.
I flew from the nest
for miles and miles,
no object was too big to over come.
My dreams began to fall into place,
hard-work began to pay off in the form
of successes, friendship, money,
and an once of happiness.
Happiness is a fickle thing.
Life was smooth sailing,
until I struck a glass window.
I was paralyzed in fear,
in pain,
for moments before the blur
that engulfed my senses wore.
On the other side of the glass,
I saw what I was flying towards:
an unfamiliar city
that was nothing but inviting,
an empty dorm filled with possibility
and transcendental wonder,
loves that would be birthed
from the flames of the past,
walks in the dark
under street lamps,
beautiful foliage resting
precariously under bare trees,
poems being written in lawn chairs
on The Quad,
ambiguous laughter erupting
from the lounge of our new home,
early morning workouts
with comrades of new and old,
but lastly,
a sense of missing home
that hath not come.
Retrospection at 2 AM
Chords off a piano
Echo into the dark chasm
That is my bedroom.
My eyes slowly adjust
To the surreal blackness
That engulfs my every sense.
A slight sliver of light
Peers creepily through my window
And rests itself precariously against the wall.
It acts as a scar on the mind itself
Of what it is like to lack even the
Most simplest form of order or uniform.
As my eyes begin to see more
And more of my past,
Of my failures,
My defeats,
Mistakes...
The successes begin to disappear
And lose value.
Yes, I have regrets,
But none of this scale or magnitude.
None that hold such a weight
That my shoulders waver in defeat.
Why should a few actions or events
Outweigh a myriad of happiness?
Why do my eyes tune to the dark?
I would rather be blinded by ignorance
Than to see these fleeting moments
Anymore.
Outside, a waxing moon rises in the sky
As my body loses consciousness.
Slowly, with no feeling at all,
My body drifts into a sleepless slumber.
Once
You were here once,
In this very spot,
I lie where your body fell,
The warmth has since left,
As you did me,
Still I know,
A part of your soul still lies here,
Once I leave this spot,
I know a part of my soul will lie here too,
And they will lie together,
As eternity presses on,
and on,
and on...
and on...
Let Me Go
I know you still think about me,
You still write poems about
how we used to be,
and who you once were,
But let me go.
I know you still hate
hearing my name,
I know you can’t look at
pictures of me,
or talk about me in a positive way,
But let me go.
I know we didn’t match,
I know we broke each other’s hearts,
and ruined love for one another,
and left a stain in our past years,
But let me go.
I know you still think of me,
And you know I still think of you,
all those nights,
those fruitless words,
and wasted time,
But let me go.
I know it’s been a year now,
I know we still haven’t spoken,
and nothing is going to change that,
I will never forgive you,
and you will never forgive me,
I’m sorry for how I acted,
and I know you’re sorry
for the way you did,
But please,
Let me go.
Rose-Tinted Windows
Sun beams,
Ocean waves,
Warm air,
I sit before my Rose-Tinted Windows.
Dying colors,
Chilly winds,
Bare bones,
I sit before my Rose-Tinted Windows.
Shrouded land,
Frosty glass,
Disappearing footsteps,
I sit before my Rose-Tinted Windows.
Flourishing flowers,
Green landscapes,
Early mornings,
I sit before my Rose-Tinted Windows
Rain pellets,
Storm clouds,
Lightening strikes,
I sit before my Rose-Tinted Windows.
Flowing fields,
Barron land,
Or scorched earth,
I sit before my Rose-Tinted Windows.
As Friends
The sound of your name,
even mentioned,
makes my heart fill.
When you walk in the room
my entire mood changes,
my brain goes all...
fuzzy.
My breath becomes shortened
when you talk to me
and laugh at my jokes.
You always bring a smile to my face
and my day isn’t complete until
I’ve seen you.
But alas,
I don’t know if you think of me,
unless we’re making eye contact.
I don’t know if you enjoy my presents,
or my name,
or the stupid things I say and do
around you.
Maybe, one day I will know
that you feel the same way about me,
but for now,
I don’t mind being your friend,
as friends.
Untitled 06
Tomorrow is a new day,
the world will spin,
the morning will come and go,
the day will press on.
You will wake up
and do your homework,
go to work,
smile,
laugh,
probably frown too.
But that’s okay,
for tomorrow is a new day.
Campion 123
I’m okay with being alone.
It’s okay to walk with your head down
every once in awhile.
The silence at 1 am isn’t that bad.
Not being a burden to anyone else
feels nice.
Sometimes my throat will get dry from
not talking in so long,
but I can just drink water so it’s fine.
It’s nice being able to watch the snow
fall outside my window and just forget
I exist.
I like the quiet,
it makes the sounds feel more alive.
To-Do Lists
When I get anxious
I tend to move towards things
I can control.
My senses become heightened,
sounds that bleed into my dorm
become more apparent,
even the silence from my classmates
lurk in my head.
Each spot on my floor
that should not be there is highlighted
like infrared in a forest.
The way my books are set on my desk,
the little nicnacs on my table just seem
out of place.
When I get a wave of anxiety,
I move towards things I control.
I’ll clean,
I’ll rearrange,
I’ll fix,
I’ll fixate,
I’ll pause,
for just a moment
to observe the room
before finishing.
Sweat will bead on my forehead,
my muscles will ache,
my eyes might even swell with tears,
but when I get anxious,
I lean towards thing I can control...
and now I sit in my spotless room.
Winter Storm Advisory
Outside the winter winds
berate my window as
I lie on the floor.
That doesn’t stop me from
feeling as though I’m being eroded
from the night’s assault.
All it would take is call,
fuck even a text,
yet I lie here listening to howl.
Nothing But Everything:
To put it simply,
I feel nothing but everything.
I feel so ashamed of myself,
yet so damn proud of where I am.
My chest is heavy with guilt and regret,
but I still carry on.
I wake up every day,
tired and stressed,
yet I march on into the darkness of the morning.
When I look at myself,
I look swollen and fat,
but also starved and skinny.
When I talk to others,
I feel love,
I feel hate,
I feel the disappointment behind their eyes,
and the stress they carry as well.
I have no right to complain,
but also the person who has
the biggest reasons to.
I don’t even have time to sleep.
Trying to Erase Pen
You’re not perfect,
no one is,
so stop thinking you have to be.
Making mistakes,
failing,
getting it wrong,
screwing up,
is just apart of life.
You don’t have to be good at everything.
It’s okay to mess up
or not know the answer.
It’s okay to start over or try again,
hell I rewrote this poem three times
and it’s not perfect,
It does not encapsulate every emotion I feel
or want to express,
but that’s okay.
I tried my best.
You don’t have to pick yourself up again
and get right back into the fight.
You may rest,
even if for just a moment
to recoup.
It’s okay to ask for help too.
Start over,
try again,
try to erase the pen,
It won’t go away
but you will move forward
and look back
to where you grew from.
It’s okay to not be perfect.
My Sweet Cardinal
Each morning I hear your welcoming song
Greet me into the day.
Your striking red stands out
Against the brown and yellow plumage
I’ve seen on others.
I know you don’t only call to me,
I still long for your song nonetheless.
Even though we meet every day or so,
You’re still shy and timid towards me.
One of these mornings,
You will let me hold you in my palms
And your song will penetrate In to see only my ears,
For you are my sweet cardinal.
Circles
Yin and Yang;
Together, we are in opposition,
Forever locked apart from one another,
in a circle of repetitive movements,
I show my problems, my issues, my darkness, my pain,
I express it in such a manner that drives those away,
I hide my happiness, my bliss, I keep it in.
You show your best everyday, always radiating happiness
and good vibes with a beautiful smile,
but you lock the hurt deep within your chest
and let no other even attempt to discover it
by burying it deeper,
I tried to uncover your struggles as you tried to pull my tranquility to the surface and by this our gravities forced each other away...
We tried to fight it, love, but the push was too powerful.
You are my equal, thus we mustn’t touch our souls.
Contact Information
your contact information
is still on my phone,
i know you can never call
or message me again,
you will never ask me to take
you home after a football game,
you will never check in
or ask to see a picture of Harley,
or ask a random question
or help with the music,
and i will never drive you
to or from band again...
you were my favorite Maggie.
Rainy Days
On rainy days I find myself
lost in a reverie reminiscing...
I think of times when the clouds
didn’t hold tons and tons of
cold, gloomy precipitation,
but instead the clouds hid
behind the horizon and
bright hot sunbeams
scanned the earth below,
I remember times when the fog wasn’t
so thick that we couldn’t drive,
but of times when you could see the
curve of the planet along the
oceanic shore,
I imagine times of lying with you
on the beach as my skin slowly
started to scorch under the
intense sun above,
I picture moments of walking
hand in hand with our feet in the cold
water coming up in waves along the shoreline
searching for cool rocks, shells, or sea glass,
These thoughts keep me warm on rainy days.
Untitled 08:
it’s always the prettiest of smiles,
that pierce the heart the deepest.
Similar Weather:
Today it rained,
poured even,
Water droplets fell from the sky
in the normal way they do.
You told me that it rained there too.
You told me water droplets fell from the sky
in the normal way they do.
The other day,
it was sunny and clear,
The land was hot enough that
tiny mirages popped up on the road.
You told me it was hot there too.
You told me that it was hot enough that
tiny mirages popped up on the road.
Last week the weather was perfect for me,
It was sunny but cool with a nice breeze.
But you told me it was storming all week there.
You told me there was flooding
and flashes of lightning.
Next week it looks like I’ll be having storms,
and you’ll be having sunny days.
Resurrecting a Love:
The distance we once traveled for someone else,
we now travel ourselves.
The things we watched happen to others,
we now watch before our own eyes.
The tarnished love once sought to fix,
has since became our own.
The trip where we found our hearts intertwined
was the trip we spent resurrecting a love.
The distance that hung between them,
now haunts our lonely nights.
Fences:
What is a fence?
What does a fence do?
Is it for decoration?
Does it add a little flair to the lawn?
Maybe the thin metal fence my neighbor
put up is there to keep the
new puppy in the yard.
But ignoring their fence,
what’s your fence for?
Is the fence you’ve placed between us for decoration?
Is it a suggestion?
Or is it a message, maybe?
Did you place a flimsy chain link fence?
Or was it just a 2x4 nailed to some trees?
Or maybe it wasn’t even a fence,
maybe it was gate.
A gate that I don’t know the passcode to since
I am not allowed in through this door.
I’ve seen others open your gate and walk on through.
But there’s something about me that you
despise so much that you’ve locked me out.
Why?
Is your fence simply a line in the sand you told
not to cross again?
What if I cross it?
What if I take a step over the sandy stalwart, hm?
Would you even say anything?
Would you even make a sound or raise a finger?
Or was it a hopeful thought that I would defy
your rules, your laws, your judgment?
Or, hear me out,
what if I was the one who put up the fence?
A tall steel fence with half inch gaps between the bars.
What then?
What would you do when fronted with my fence?
Would you cross it?
Would you stand and wait outside?
Or perhaps would you see the boundary,
see the message I’ve given you,
and turn around,
and walk away…
Thoughts:
The simple chemicals in our brain
can lead us to wonderful
thoughts and ideas;
to visions of color and life,
to oceans stretching for miles and
sprawling with creatures,
to woodlands full of towering trees and
littered with critters,
of distant galaxies spiraling with
gas giants,
new nebulae,
and spectacular supernovae.
Our thoughts can lead us to
euphoric sensations,
transfixed tranquility,
but most importantly…
our minds can lead us to love,
to the pure infatuation of another soul,
to the overwhelming bliss of an open heart.
The simple touch of palms together can
light the darkest rooms,
paint a canvas with magnificent colors,
and open the mind to endless possibilities.
Where will your thoughts take you?
Untitled 09:
I stand here,
a cool Atlantic breeze on my back,
watching and listening as the oceanic waves crash.
Houses surround me,
shedding brilliant light.
In each of them is a story of a family,
or a group of friends,
either on a vacation,
or they’re lucky enough to live here.
The night sky is bleeding
with far away light of nearby stars,
even Venus sits on the horizon,
and yet,
you still rest heavy on my mind.
Your hair is still seemingly stuck on my clothes,
your sweet aroma still pungent as ever,
and your eyes are as blue as the
water in front of me.
If I stand still enough I can even feel the ghostly
touch of your hand in mine.
Alas here we are,
miles upon miles upon miles upon miles
away from one another,
both figuratively and literally,
both emotionally and physically.
Once the single source of my peace,
now the single reason I can’t seem to find any.
I whisper “goodbye,” to the ocean,
as I once did you.
Lamb In Your Labyrinth:
I was the lamb in your labyrinth,
the innocence to your confounding
puzzles, games and traps.
Every ounce I put in to
finding my way through the haunting halls
only led myself further in the wrong direction.
I felt as though it was me versus the world,
all the little things started to pile up,
It even seemed that the birds were against me,
I couldn’t see to keep my vision straight,
It seemed that I was nobody,
I felt completely godless.
So when the twists and turns
and endless corridors
began to confuse us both,
you decided to let me go,
however I didn’t want to leave,
as much as I feared every step I took,
I knew I was stepping there with you.
But alas,
the gates opened and I was freed.
Now I walk alone,
through a meadow of grass,
breathing free once again,
but the thought of your labyrinth
still keeps me awake at night,
so maybe one day,
I’ll show up at the right time,
the doors will swing open,
and I’ll forget the pain I endured,
just to hold your hand once more.
After All This Time:
A gentle breeze wrestles with the
golden brown grass poking up from the
barren soil under the rising sun,
A steady repetition of water droplets
slowly fall to their death on the cool stone slab
upon the dirt below and feed the weeds growing
adjacent to the slab,
The stories told beneath this
weather-worn leather ivory cap will
have to be told another day
for it sits precariously attached to a
hook a few feet from the front door,
Soft sounds emit from the creaking
scarlet and white barn door as that same
gentle breeze pushes and pulls
throughout the farmland,
Four off-white plates rest
perfectly placed on this rustic
wood table as steam rises
from a coffee mug in the
blurred background,
Dust emerges from its
invisible hiding spots as a
warm ray of sunshine
peers in through the almost
spotless double-hung window,
Dried mud holds the memory of the
constant stomping of hooves and feet
in this diverse stable of oak wood with
a few pieces missing from an animal or two
taking a bite,
The brilliant blue sky is only shrouded by
a few voluminous clouds resembling
vastly different shapes and sizes and carrying
raw precipitation that won’t bless this soil,
Erosion has barely affected this rock wall
separating the surrounding wilderness
from the somehow civilized pastures,
stables, and farmhouses on the other side,
Eggs of all colors and patterns from cream with
brown speckles to plain white to some that even
have a hint of green find themselves carefully
placed in a box filled with hay as to not damage the shell,
With seldom use, the front door sits
with its white paint peeling under the
sinking roofed porch as sun slowly peaks its
curious face over the farmhouse and gazing
upon the land below.
The Stain:
Resting precariously on the rug,
Sits a stain.
We both know how the stain came to be,
We know why it happened,
I know what I did to accidentally bring it into existence,
And you know the pain that seeing it brings you.
However, it is there nonetheless.
Now, we can pass this stain from time to time
And sit and stare
At the once clean carpet,
Or we can acknowledge the past,
Understand the story,
Empathize with the suffering,
And move on,
Or we will stop and waste time,
Staring at a stain.
Blue Jay’s Call:
Oh, what do you call to
dearest Blue Jay?
Do you call to love
so the wings of another
might fly them towards you?
Do you sing of hope
as if to bring a
feast to your famine?
Do you call of warning
so that of your kin
may rise to attention?
Or do you sing for me?
That I might hear your call
and write of what wonders
it brings me?
An Ode to Adventure:
I dream of adventure,
of quests and treasures,
and of friendships and enemies.
I dream of far away lands,
of mountains and caves,
and of forests and open skies.
I dream of mortals,
of dwarves and elves
and of orcs and dragons.
I dream of battle,
of swords and shields,
and of bows and axes.
I dream of magic,
of spells and potions,
and of curses and hexes.
I dream of a journey,
of hardships and trials,
and of victories and rewards.
I long for adventure.
Sounds From An Adirondack Chair:
The caw of a nearby crow
speaking of warnings or findings,
The scraps of leaves on cement
as the wind passes by,
Distant murmurs of a conversation
I cannot make out,
The jingle of zippers and keys on backpacks
as students rush to or from class,
The faint noises of construction
a few streets away,
Out of step footfalls all around me,
The loud hum from a plane flying
into the closest airport,
A steady stream of water in the fountain behind me,
The clicks from a keyboard
as my friend works to my side,
The rustle of leaves on autumn trees,
Finally, four chimes from the bell tower
signifying the top of the hour,
snapping me from my reverie.
Light switches:
Light switches bring both
light and darkness;
One by consequence,
however a feature nonetheless.
They can be found everywhere:
in homes, the office, hospitals,
in bedrooms, on the walls of churches,
mechanic shops, anywhere.
Light switches come in all
shapes and sizes too:
some fancy with metal frames,
others white and boring,
some with two or three switches,
others with none at all!
These things are not occurring in nature,
No,
We make these switches ourselves and
put them in easy-to-reach places.
Occasionally they’ll break and not work,
other times they’ll take a moment to turn on,
Sometimes there’s simply no power to them,
and then there are times we don’t use them at all.
In any way,
we’ll all know our own light switches and
what they turn on or off in ourselves.
Isn’t that the beauty of it?
MMXXII
As I stare at the letters on this keyboard,
I realize I’m writing a poem,
I’ve already written.
A poem to someone else,
who is still you,
just not the same you.
The thoughts and words I’ve once
used to describe you hold no place
in my vocabulary anymore.
The time spent together,
is time spent with a stranger,
a person I’ve never met,
yet you look identical,
just around a year older.
Somehow,
here we are,
in the same foolish games and ways
we once lived together,
but with a different Greek
word to describe us now.
I know the outcomes
to the games,
to the questions,
to the thoughts,
the feelings,
the meals together,
the late nights a few feet apart…
all I want is to hold you,
to feel you,
to know if you feel the same,
so I’ll know…
if you really are a stranger.
What Do I Know?
I told a friend to write what they know,
since I heard it in a play, but it got
me thinking: what do I know?
Is it birds?
The way they fly, sound, look?
Or perhaps poetry?
Can I organize words and thoughts
into a format that people enjoy?
Is it The Army?
Can I plan a mission and
write an OPORD?
Is it love?
Do I know how to care for another
and express feelings?
Is it hate?
Do I hold grudges and use anger?
Is it nature?
Can I explore the woods and
not get lost or bored in the
endless sea of trees?
Is it space?
Can I understand the ever expanding
universe and the astronomical bodies that exist within its confines?
Is this what I know?
Or do I know nothing?
space:
you gave me a simple command,
so I reached out my arm and
grabbed the Moon,
pulled the Belt and Bow from Orion,
I plucked the Stripes from Jupiter,
handed you the Rings of Saturn,
asked to borrow some of the Stars
from Libra and Pisces,
reached as far as I could into
other galaxies,
knocked on the door of an Old Supernova,
but no one was home,
I even tried to capture Halley’s Comet,
but she escaped me…
something’s are just too far
outta reach.
HB Central:
words carry a lot of meaning,
they carry love, hate, frustration,
sentences carry even more:
I love you, I hate you, I can’t talk to you
anymore.
but nothing compares to the feelings
that a poem can express,
they can express love in ways
one cannot feel besides words on
a page,
they can describe the flame in
your stomach and the tightening
of veins,
poems can even illustrate the complexity of your beauty with such
fine detail.
so with this immense power
of words and sentences aligned
in certain formidable ways,
love can sharply turn to hate
frustration to anger,
once thoughtful words of you,
turn into blades that cut open old wounds,
wounds that I need to heal,
so I think of you,
as I sit here,
deleting poems.
Love in a time of War:
War and Love seem to be opposites,
one expressing happiness and feelings of longing and romance and other indescribable things,
whereas the other is filled with horror, lies,
death, and destruction.
Yet, these two words lead to the most
beautiful things and the most horrible things.
Cities get rebuilt more stable than before and families ruined from broken hearts.
I’ve seen love turn to war,
and I’ve seen war turn to love.
My heart was once filled with a joy that
could be expressed like no other and no other could fill me with excitement and happiness
and love, yet that love turned fruitless.
But I’ve heard of war, of misery beyond all compare, famine, draught, murder…
ignite a flame that would burn deep within
the souls of fledging lovers.
How is it that these are possible?
Why can love lead to war and war create love if they are supposed to be the embodiment of the direct opposition of themselves: make love not war.
But love is war!
Everyday love is a battlefield where things are sacrificed and saved for the war itself and not this mere battle. Things die, people get hurt, different strategies for love are created all the time.
But war is love!
Why go to war if not for love?
Why kill or die and bleed if there is nothing to go home to?
Why fight if there is nothing worth fighting for?
Nothing worth protecting?
Why start a war?
What is love?
What is war?
Making Up Words Until I Accidentally Make a Real One:
Noun,
fuck.
A Question of Emergency:
Three peas in a pod
over an empty hole.
Four legs intertwined;
Two hearts disjoined.
How do you explain drab colors
to the blind?
A bird in a cage is worth more
than three on the streets.
Another round enters the already loaded gun;
Do you want strawberry or grape?
There is something about wheels
that has always baffled me.
How do you tell the starving
to stop eating?
The loudest of echoes
still falls on deaf ears.
What good is a sign
to those who cannot read?
How come Terror is met with Humility,
whereas innocence is stolen like Bibles in a pew.
Where is He now?
When will the worst come?
Time and Time Again
I cannot hear it when I’m busy
about my day to day life.
It is the moments where
I lie in bed with a
pulsing headache,
starring at the ceiling that the
tick is noticeable.
It’s ironic.
The every constant rhythm
of the tick
Is loudest when my internal rhythm
is off.
My heart will beat irregularly
and my thoughts are
never consistent,
but that damn clicking is
always on beat.
I know the source,
but I don’t know what I would do
without at least
one stalwart.
For I know when my days seem impossible,
and the whims of life
uneven,
that when I lie in bed for a
futile sleep,
the watch will tick and tock
on every second,
of every hour,
of every day,
of every week,
of every year,
decade,
century, even…
until one day
it’ll stop.
Dirty Dishes
Stop mocking me.
I see the faces you make
at me when I pass you by.
I pass you every day.
You just sit there and stare.
I’m sorry for the neglect.
You watch as I work
on other projects
and clean other things,
but I ignore you.
I look at you and say “I will,”
but I won’t.
I stress
and stress
and stress…
But I do not acknowledge you.
What is it?
What makes you the worst of all?
Is it the simplicity of it?
Or the lack of true need?
I don’t know.
For now,
let me stress about the rest.
Maybe after…
Binary Stars:
Two balls of pure heat and energy
orbit around themselves.
Bound forever in a circular pattern,
their gravity too strong to resist.
The first and largest,
being an astronomical fire-red of every entangled solar flare spiking and roaring
with vengeance every time it strikes.
The other and newest,
Is a main sequence deep blue sun
quiet and reserved yet
it’s pull is like no other.
Floating on my own,
I stay forever between them.
Occasionally being attracted harder
to one and then the other.
The catch 22 of it all,
is once I’m pulled close to the red supergiant or the pool of blue,
I become burned like never before.
The heat from those Binary Stars,
is too much to bare.
Thus I remain in limbo,
forever haunted by twin suns.
Untitled 11:
Dead trees
It’s just as beautiful
with missing leaves,
no matter how hurtful,
whenever it comes into view,
Lying on our backs
It makes me think of you
watching the smoke rise in stacks,
Then to your childhood bed
Listening to music
Touching by our heads,
that now just makes me sick.
You, Again:
With a few sharp words,
You stripped the meaning of my life
right off my chest.
The light that emit from your figure,
the light that would guide me from
day to day,
is now dimmed
and only exists within
the deep recesses of my mind in which
I do not journey.
You used to be the first thing I thought of when I awoke and the last thing before I drifted to sleep.
However, now, if I think of you
while trying to sleep,
sleep will not come.
I wish I was blind
because you are simply too recognizable:
your damn hair is almost
impossible to miss.
When your voice echoes
throughout the halls
and off the walls,
I find a different way around so that
the sounds do not get louder.
Your touch used to greet me
into the new day,
if you touched me now…
I genuinely do not know.
Once I was found
in your arms,
Now I am lost,
Aimlessly avoiding them.
Euclid Creek:
As water rushes past me over a sleek
runway of smoothed rock,
I finally take a moment to stop,
to think,
to reflect.
The sun is setting behind the treetops
and illuminating just below the cliff face.
The sound of water hitting spots that throw it back at itself is perfect background noise to block out the hum of my regular thoughts.
I can feel my heart slowly regulate itself
back into a rhythm that I cannot feel.
Brown leaves scatter themselves along the banks edge like phoenix feathers waiting to be reborn in the spring.
The season is coming to an end soon,
it’s perfect for a time of peace and calmness.
White puffs of cloud are hanging low in the atmosphere tonight,
Only perfect skies give validity to outrageous thoughts of beginnings.
A slight tingling is coming to
my fingers as I write this,
It may be time to move on.
That does not interrupt my tranquility
For the sounds are only natural
and the sights surreal.
Tainted Eyes:
I wish I could see you
through untainted eyes,
to see your beauty,
pure as it first was.
To hold your body in my arms
for the first time and feel
the rush of oxytocin
through my brain once again.
I wish the thoughts my mind
had about you were of hope,
love and excitement,
not of longing nor regret.
To see you walking to my door
through a crack in the blinds,
my heart would skip a beat
and I would crack a smile.
I wish you cared to look at me again,
not the mutual agreement we have to
act as if we are strangers walking
amongst each other,
totally ignorant.
To be a stranger to you,
would be as if I had
untainted eyes.
Land’s End:
There’s a place
where the tide meets the
rumbles of rocks and dirt
the air smells of pine
that soothes the insides of lungs.
It is there that the most peaceful
of moments exists in all of creation.
On those rocky shores
under the light that squeezes
through cloud cover
thoughts are calm and clear
worries are far away
moments stay
the heart relaxes.
Reflection is expected
and introspection occurs
regardless of effort
thus the trees towering
overhead often occupy
the farthest stretches of the mind
their roots are wrinkles
and limbs but synapses
to the leaves
of memory.
For it to be considered sacred
an end must come
yet there’s never enough
time to say goodbye.
soul:
if you would crack my soul open,
as if to retrieve a nut
from within a shell,
you would see the deepest
reaches of the universe
and the most lush of greens,
spill out onto the floor
Pleather:
I was a restless kid,
I used to hold my eyes open
while laying in my parents bed
until the darkness enveloped them.
I still lie awake,
Listening and picturing
the outside world
and using my dads old
methods of how to fall asleep.
I remember all those nights,
Where I would listen to Mirage
until it ended with a jarring click
that would cease what sleep had come.
I can still feel the old carpet,
As I would creek down the stairs
to alert my mother that I couldn’t sleep
as if she was the only key.
I was a restless kid,
I still lie awake
I remember all those nights
I can still feel the old carpet.
ASL in SYR:
I’ve never felt further away from
someone than signing to you from
across the platform.
The ground beneath my feet slightly
rumbled as your fingers moved.
Your hands were barely visible
from the window as I read out
each letter you showed me.
i l o v e y o u
We’re still learning to be apart
and how to sign.
Untitled 12:
Is the world truly
Crumbling at my feet?
Is everything slipping
Through my fingers?
Am I losing my grip?
Was that choice mine…?
Or is it just raining?
Acrostic on the Amtrak:
Many nights we’ve spent together now,
And yet I sit on this train and think how
Ridiculous that we must live so far apart
Love. With every sudden shift on this
Amtrak, I can feel your ghostly body
Hug mine with your arms wrapped
Ever so gently around my shoulders. our
Love language is the hardest part of
Living with such a distance between
Each other. I crave your touch, to feel
No space between our chests. oh, babe
How I miss our nights spent lost back
Out in the forests and mountains just
Hoping those eyes aren’t looking for us.
Love holds no bounds or limits, but I still
Feel so much weight in my chest as I
Expect you to be sitting next to me
Letting my hand rest on your thigh.
Deep into the darkness I’m heading,
Everything I do is for you. I know I can
Rest assured that you feel the same.
Queen of Potsdam:
Her reign reaches the far corners
of Potsdam, Watertown,
Clarkson, and Canton.
Majestic rule,
Kind and humble,
Fair-hearted,
Purposeful.
The Queen’s influence on her people
spreads love, admiration,
beauty beyond compare,
Intellect to the highest degree.
Born near the Oceanside
in the small settlement of Guilford,
the tide was high the moment she
was created and thus found
a home in her blue eyes.
Adventure called her name, Marlah,
and the winds under her wings carried
the beautiful Queen to distant horizons
to touch the hearts and souls of all of those
around The Queen of Potsdam.